


one more time with feeling

by dreamrecurrentdreams



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Tenderness, Will o' Wisp Jason, Witch!Dick, minor appearances from the batfamily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamrecurrentdreams/pseuds/dreamrecurrentdreams
Summary: Once after a bout of sex that had Dick’s nails scrabbling for purchase against Jason’s back, Dick had told Jason the story of two lovers, how one had said to the other she wished she could become his heart and share his body so she wouldn’t feel so lonely in hers. Jason had only watched him steadily and Dick could only look down, face burning, and mumble, “And I guess I can understand that feeling too, sometimes.”(in which Dick Grayson and Jason Todd fall in love with each other to the moon and back)
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 38
Kudos: 90





	1. new moon

**Author's Note:**

> once more unto the breach we go, dear friends.  
> this is a project that i had hoped to finish by halloween but as of yet, has undergone 3 rewritings in the past 4 months because of how difficult it's been to write as of late. i thought i would post now and commit to wrapping up what i have in the next month so i could see this fic through to the end. 
> 
> special shoutout to [freakydeakymoonmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakydeakymoonmagic/pseuds/freakydeakymoonmagic/), an absolute legend who cranked out over 17K words in 4 days for their own fic and inspired in turn me to keep going with this. thank you for encouraging me not to give up <3

The legend of Jack of the Lantern, Dick’s mother tells him, is a story of a boy who had nowhere else to go, who could only roam endlessly searching for a place to call his own. _All by himself?_ Dick asks and his mother only runs a thumb over his chalk-dusted knuckles, smiles at him sadly with waning crescent eyes. _Yes._

Jack had been a boy who had stolen to survive, even stealing the odds as to never be touched by death - up until the devil came to put an end to the mortal who dared to resist his fate. Jack, with his quick fingers and quicker wits, outsmarted the devil by luring him into a trap and only freeing him on the condition the devil not claim his soul. But when Jack’s time came, the devil arrived to taunt the boy that he was neither allowed into Hell nor Heaven. Laughing at his plight, the devil tossed Jack into an unending darkness and dropped a burning coal into his hands. Reaching for a turnip in his pocket, Jack carved out a space to place the coal there to craft a lantern to light his way out into a world he would continue to wander for eternity.

Twenty years later, Dick finds his mother was wrong about a few things. For one, the boy’s name was Jason, not Jack. For another, Jason had long finished his wandering by now, having settled in Gotham and evaded detection for the past three centuries. And lastly, the truth of how Jason had escaped the darkness was far more gruesome than cobbling together a makeshift lantern; the abyss was as cold as it was vast, and Jason had had no choice but to swallow the coal to keep his body warm, to consume the hellfire and make it his so he could blaze a trail out. 

But his mother was right about the things that mattered. Like how Jason had fought tooth and nail to survive but had been cursed for it, or that he was alone and would never know rest because of it. 

Dick watches Jason now, his breathing labored as he dreams of an unending cold. In the pale sunlight, his veins rise from his skin like spiderline cracks in porcelain, tinted black from the ember that burns inside him, eating away at his body. 

It must hurt. Even if Jason will never say so to him. 

Once after a bout of sex that had Dick’s nails scrabbling for purchase against Jason’s back, Dick had told Jason the story of two lovers, how one had said to the other she wished she could become his heart and share his body so she wouldn’t feel so lonely in hers. Jason had only watched him steadily and Dick could only look down, face burning, and mumble, “And I guess I can understand that feeling too, sometimes.”

Jason had been silent. “Not sure if inside of me would be a good place to live,” he said, but tucked a curl of hair behind Dick’s ear. “And I like you here just fine.” He had smiled crookedly at Dick and Dick could only swallow down the feeling, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Jason’s jaw instead.

But even now, Dick wishes he could climb inside Jason’s skin and keep Jason warm himself instead of the hellfire that is slowly killing him. Instead, he can only do the next best thing and press himself close to Jason’s body, leaching away the heat but shielding him from the cold.

.

.

.

.

.

 _Dick finds Jack of the Lantern on a muggy summer night, the air viscous with a thick heat that clings to him, trapping him in a state of simmering frustration._ Even soaring over Gotham doesn’t bring the same relief it usually does; he has to adjust his grip on the handle of his broomstick multiple times because his palms are so slippery with sweat.

He doesn’t want to be out here, hates that he ended up saying yes to Bruce in the first place even when he’d lent his anger as fuel to keep the bridge between them burning so Bruce’s shadow would never fall on him again. 

If it was important, Dick would’ve minded less. But no, B had asked him to locate the tires stolen off his Bentley, expectantly as if Dick didn’t have an entire backlog of client requests to fill that were far more important. His last job had meant informing his client he had found her missing boyfriend’s body out on the docks and holding her as she sobbed into his shoulder, paint-chipped nails knotting in the fabric of his shirt. 

So no, Dick doesn’t want to be out here tracking fucking tires of all things. He’ll finish this quickly, he resolves as the glinting blue thread of his magic pulls him to an apartment window with the lights out.

Of course, the one time he decides to wrap up the job as fast as he can and doesn’t bother to check for signs of life, he comes face to face with the resident of the apartment.

In Dick’s defense, he could have never anticipated the resident would be drinking and smoking in complete darkness, half-naked with his long legs kicked up on the armrest of the couch he’s sprawling on. Cigarette smoldering in one hand and glass tipped to his mouth in the other, the man drains his glass, licks his lips as he surveys Dick with hooded eyes that gleam a brilliant gold.

Good God, he’s beautiful. Dick’s mouth dries. It still doesn’t stop him from blurting out, “Do you usually drink and smoke in the dark or is it a special occasion?”

Without missing a beat, the man replies, “Do you usually break into people’s apartments or is it a special occasion?”

Under any other circumstances, Dick would’ve responded coyly, eager for a chance to banter. But the stack of tires across the room and the siren call of going home to sit in an ice cold shower and wash away the prickling heat under his skin has him curbing his tongue. “I came for the tires,” is all he says.

The man sits up, gaze sharp with recognition. “Right, you’re Wayne’s lackey. Dick Grayson, right?”

There’s no derision curdling his words but Dick can still feel a steady anger pulse through him, thrumming in his ears. He has to run his tongue over his teeth to stop himself from lashing out, from drawing blood from a stranger when this has only ever been between him and Bruce. 

“I’m not Bruce’s anything,” he says quietly. “I haven’t been for some time now. I’m here as a freelancer.”

The man studies him. “If man was made in his father’s image, who’s to say he can’t go and remake himself in an image of his own?” he says at last before smiling at Dick. “Alright then, Grayson, how did you find me in the first place?”

Something loosens in Dick’s chest. He allows himself to smile back at the man. “My magic allows me to track down people or things that go lost or missing, to lock in on targets that haven’t returned yet to where they’re supposed to be. In this case, the tires. Unless you yourself identify with that.”

“That which hasn’t returned yet to where it’s supposed to be,” the man repeats before his mouth tugs into a mirthless grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“I would,” Dick says without thinking, and finds it to be true. The heat that once needled at him has subsided, leaving a faint warmth that hums under his skin. 

The man stubs out his cigarette, then reaches for the glass bottle of bourbon on the coffee table, swinging his legs down so his feet touch the floor. He unscrews the lid to take a swig from it before holding it out to Dick. “It’s a long story. But you might as well have a drink if you’re going to stick around to hear the rest of it.”

Dick settles onto the other side of the couch and accepts the bottle. He knows nothing about this man, other than that he’s beautiful, he’s skilled enough to have gotten away with stealing the tires off Bruce Wayne’s Bentley, and he’s capable of saying soft, poignant things when he’s not delivering verbal parries or jabs - but it’s enough for Dick to tip the bottle to his lips and drink.

He tastes smoke on the rim of the bottle. 

“My name,” says the man. “Is Jason Peter Todd. But you might know me better as Jack of the Lantern.” 


	2. crescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! i've made a few adjustments to the formatting of this fic so you no longer have to wade through a whole sea of italics :) 
> 
> additionally, for this chapter specifically, i'd like to include the content warning of a brief discussion of eating disorders.

In regards to his work, Babs had once teasingly compared Dick to Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service, “cute dark-haired witch flying around the city dropping off items to people” and all. Cass, who was also there and had just begun to fall in love with Studio Ghibli films after discovering them, had looked at him with a shine in her eyes and Dick hadn’t had the heart to rebuff Babs’s remark. 

Besides, she has a point - partially. The traveling by broomstick part to retrieve and return items is true, and on the sunny days when he soars through the breathtaking blue above the skyline of Gotham, the swooping joy in his belly must come close to the crisp, clear aesthetic of Studio Ghibli. But the labor involved in fulfilling his clients’ requests - especially when it comes to tracking down missing loved ones or objects of great sentimental value - is far grittier work. 

It takes him the whole morning just to wrap up three clients’ requests. Locating Markrid’s evil eye amulet means tracing it back to the pawn shop Rags n’ Tatters and finding the man who stole it. When Dick asks him if he knows the history behind the amulet, that it belongs to an Armenian widow who fled her ancestral home in Turkey and settled in Gotham in the hopes she could find sanctuary at last, the man only stares down at his rubber-soled shoes and murmurs, “No, I didn’t know. I just - I had to pay for my daughter’s meds somehow.” Dick ends up pulling out a business card, scribbling Jason’s phone number on it, and encouraging the man to give Jason a call. Chances are, Jason not only will be able to provide him a more legal job but also find a way to secure his daughter’s medication, extra-legal means or no. 

Then comes finding Ishmael, listed as missing by Elisha, who paints a picture of how her uncle’s inner demons had driven him out onto the streets while grimly insisting she can’t trust the GCPD not to escalate the situation if they were to encounter him. Dick finds Ishmael ankle-deep in a sunlit fountain in Robinson Park, hands fluttering as he murmurs to Dick of how he had to flee from home to shake off the shadows lying in wait to swallow him up. He’s not crazy, he swears he’s not, and Dick can only reply, “I know. I believe you,” and swallow down the sand-paper frustration grating against his nerves, that Bruce’s shadow surveillance stretched over Gotham is causing problems for people yet again. Someone like Ishmael, not a magic user but attuned to auras, would be able to pick up on eyes in the darkness monitoring the city without recognizing the magic belonged to a benevolent party. Dick digs a magic-shielding charm out of his pocket, a rounded carnelian stone, and places it in Ishmael’s palm with the promise it’ll ward off the shadows and bring him peace of mind again.

Last is retrieving Max’s lost watch, a family heirloom, which is easier said than done when he finds it in the hands of a tiny pixie trying to lug it back to its nest. The price of extracting the watch is a pair of pixie fangs lodged in his thumb before Dick offers it a tin of Altoid Mango Sours in exchange. It pops one in its mouth and snatches the tin away before scampering away. Dick momentarily mourns the loss; those were limited edition. He’ll have to ask Steph where to buy more.

When he arrives back at the office, he’s greeted by the sight of Jason in the back room, thumbing through a well-loved paperback with an array of foil-wrapped plates laid out on the table in front of him. He’s wearing reading glasses, a wire-rimmed pair he’d grumbled would make him look like a senior citizen or worse, a hipster, but ended up buying anyways after Dick remarked offhandedly how cute he looked in them.

A soft-petaled warmth unfurls in Dick’s chest, impossibly fond. He swallows it down as he leans over to press a kiss to Jason’s cheek and pull up a chair next to him. “I told you you looked good in those glasses.”

“Or you’ve got terrible taste and I can never say no to you,” Jason says mildly, sliding off his glasses. He slips a bookmark into his book and snaps it shut. “So, want to take a guess as to why I’m here?”

“You miss me already, even though we had breakfast together four hours ago?”

“I thought we agreed already that you’re the one who pines and I’m the one who broods,” Jason replies but the right corner of his lips tug up. “No, I’m here because a little bespectacled bird in charge of Gotham’s surveillance says you’ve been skipping your lunch breaks lately.”

Ah, that explains the spread of food. “And you’re telling me you don’t?”

“Of course I eat lunch, I’m a growing boy,” Jason deadpans and Dick snorts. “That, and I can never turn down the food people load onto me.” He peels back the foil to reveal mountains of rice smothered in fried plantains, grilled chicken, and black beans. “Ms. Moreira wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“Ms. Moreira! On 18th and Crescent?” At Jason’s nod, Dick lights up. “That makes sense. I hope she’s doing well.” He grins in spite of himself. “But usually you leave her place covered in lipstick marks. What happened this time?”

In response, Jason holds up a handkerchief peppered with smeared red stains. Dick’s mouth twitches as he valiantly fights to keep the laughter from bubbling up inside of him. It’s a losing battle. Jason scowls at him. “I’m not heartless enough to be fighting off harmless housewives who want to plant one or two on me,  _ dick _ .”

“More like twenty or thirty,” Dick wheezes. Jason kicks his shin but when Dick finally reins himself in, Jason has a wry smile on his face too.

“She’s doing well. Daniel too. He’s headed to college next month.” 

Dick returns his smile, a quiet, fierce joy pulses in his chest. “Yeah, I heard from Tim. They’ve kept in touch this whole time.”

“It’s good you were there that day. No one else could’ve helped him out as much as you did.” 

Dick looks up at him.  _ I fell in love with you that day, you and how you take care of people and how I want to be taken care of by you  _ is what he wants to say, but it’s only noon and he saves those kinds of confessions for the night, when he’s curled up around Jason’s frame and can murmur them into his chest. So he says “I’m glad I joined you that day. We’ve made a good team since then,” even as the shape of ‘team’ falls flat in his mouth 

“Team,” Jason repeats wryly. “That’s one way to put it.” And then: “You know, Ms. Moreira asked when the wedding would be.” 

“What did you say?”

“That I’d ask you what season you’d want your wedding in.”

“Spring,” Dick says, and only then does he realize he’s slipped up, a mortified heat rising in his cheeks. He isn’t supposed to answer this quickly, as if he’d thought about marriage enough to be able to respond without thinking twice.

“Your folks would’ve liked that. Their Robin married on the first day of spring.” 

Dick’s gaze snaps up to Jason. Jason, who’s watching him with a soft gaze, even as the sunlight catches on the scar slicing down his face, the bridge of his nose broken so many times it healed crooked. Jason, alive for hundreds of years to see all that the world had to offer, who has kept the knowledge of John and Mary Grayson’s love for their son safely tucked away all this time. 

Throat tightening, he reaches over to take Jason’s hand wordlessly, squeezes it in the hopes of conveying something, even a fraction of what it means to him that Jason remembered.

But Jason seems to understand. He laces his fingers with Dick’s, squeezes back, large calloused hand enveloping Dick’s smaller one. 

He’s still looking down at their joined hands when he says, “Dick.”

“Yes?”

“You’d have to want to be married for me to do anything about it. You’ve got one lifetime to spend. You want to have as few regrets as possible, especially when it comes to something like this.” 

Jason’s voice is unbearably steady.  _ You’ve got one lifetime to spend.  _ As the chasm that divides them, mortal from immortal, means the time Dick spends alive matters but that his own time doesn’t.

“Jason,” he says. “Jason, look at me.”

Jason looks up at him, gold-ringed irises gleaming with inscrutable emotion. He’s as beautiful as the first time Dick had laid eyes on him. He’ll be beautiful, no matter how many times Dick looks at him. 

“I don’t have any regrets when it comes to you. I - I want you to come home to me, for however long I have with you. And that can mean marriage but it doesn’t have to be. Any way I can have you is enough for me. As long as it’s what you want.”

Jason doesn’t respond, only lets go of Dick’s hand. Dick’s heart sinks. The distance between their hands is only a few inches but Dick can feel it growing, aching with the fear that Jason will pull away farther and farther out of his reach. His fingers curl. 

Then Jason’s lips are on his, hands cradling his face to slot their mouths together. A wave of relief crashes over Dick and he goes easily, mouth opening to give Jason access and hands fisting in the fabric of Jason’s shirt. He closes his eyes, breathes Jason in, drowns in him. 

When they pull apart, Jason is as out of breath as he is. 

Dick opens his mouth to say something, only to see Jason’s expression shift when his eyes slide past where Dick is sitting. 

“What?”

“I came here to get you to eat lunch, not to mack on you while Ms. Moreira’s home cooking goes cold.” 

Dick sighs. “She’ll forgive us if we invite her to the wedding though, right?” 

Jason smiles at him in response. It’s a small, close-mouthed smile but it says everything Dick needs to know and more. 

.

.

.

.

.

_ “What do you want, witch boy?”  _

From his position on the rooftop, Dick nibbles his lip as he considers his options. He doubts Jason will let it slide if he pretends he didn’t hear anything and remains hidden. 

So instead, mustering the sunniest smile in his repertoire, he leans over the balcony to reply, “Are you sure we weren’t just headed in the same direction?” 

Even from a distance, Jason looks unimpressed as he cranes his neck to stare up at Dick from the street below. “I don’t think so. I’ve been zig-zagging from 8th to West Remsen trying to lose you.”

Dick drapes his arms over the railing. He’ll admit, he’s impressed Jason noticed he was being tailed as early as he did. “So you let me make a fool of myself for that long?”

“I let you follow me, sure. But because I was curious. I didn’t think a witch could be so light on their feet.”

The showman in Dick preens. “Well, I’m not just any witch. I was raised in the circus before Bruce took me under his wing.”

“The circus,” Jason repeats, the faintest hint of skepticism lining his voice.

“Oh yeah. Haly’s, born and bred.” He leaps up, planting his feet on the railing. It’s a beautiful day today, with a slight breeze that grazes past the nape of his neck, whispers that there’s nothing like the present. 

There’s only a split second he catches a glimpse of Jason’s face as he launches into the air. Then he’s plunging downwards, wind whistling in his ears as his body moves on instinct, tucking inwards then twisting. He pulls upright just as the ground rushes to meet him and sinks the landing on his feet. Momentum and muscle memory alike drive him into a sweeping bow. 

When he looks up at Jason from underneath his bangs, there’s something bordering surprise, edging into wonder etched on Jason’s features. Then Jason grins at him in a white slash of teeth. “You really have to be something to catch an immortal off guard. Especially one that’s been alive as long as I have.”

Dick stretches, and it’s as much pleasure from the stretch of his body as it is warmth from Jason’s words that suffuse through him. “So you should give me a prize.”

“Like what?”

“Like accompanying you for the day.”

Jason only stuffs his hands in his pockets, tilts his head to study him. “You’re awfully forward, Grayson,” he says at last. “If you wanted to get my attention, you didn’t have to break into my apartment and then stalk me all across Gotham. Have you considered maybe taking a guy out to dinner instead?” 

Dick only lifts his chin. “You can call me Dick, you know,” he replies. “Anyways, I was on the job then and I’m on the job now. A little bird told me you take care of the people here in the East End so I wanted to see what that looks like.” 

Specifically, Babs had described Jason as an ‘anti-establishment’ character, with a wry glint in her eyes. "I’ll admit he’s got a promising approach to mutual aid but he’s also got morals grayer than the hairs you give Bruce." She paused. "Knowing you, that last detail’s probably a turn-on. Don’t go chasing after this guy just to spite Bruce."

"Do you really think I’m that petty?" Babs opened her mouth and Dick only ruefully shook his head. "Forget I asked."

But it’s true he’s drawn to how Jason sees him without seeing the shadow of Bruce he’s risen from. But it runs deeper than that. Jason is the incarnation of a Gotham he couldn’t stay away from. As a member of Bruce’s coven, he can skim the edges of the city, above the skyline on his broomstick or in its periphery in the sprawling estate in Wayne Manor - but when on the streets, when the city comes alive and its people too, Gotham is as much his as he is hers. 

Dick clears his throat now. “You recognized me from before as Bruce’s lieutenant at the GCPD. I’m a freelancer now because I quit to run my own practice and help people in my own way. But I can really only give my clients closure. There’s still more I wish I could do for them but I don’t think GCPD’s the way to go. You might be, though.” 

“Some people would give everything they have for closure,” Jason replies lightly even as his gaze falls heavily on Dick. He runs a hand through his curly undercut. “Fine then. I can respect where you’re coming from. But if I tell you to back off, you back off.” 

But he never does in the time that Dick accompanies him. Mostly because Dick is content to watch him work. Jason in his element is a force to be reckoned with, simultaneously electric bravado and grounding empathy as he trades banter with his informants and listens intently to the households he stops by and the hopes and fears they harbor. 

Dick watches Jason take it all in stride, from walking a teenage girl through the process of visiting Dr. Thompson for an abortion consultation to checking in on the family of sandmen who produce and sell dreamsand as a non-addictive morphine substitute. And he can’t even judge Jason’s hand in drug distribution when Jason brings a Ziplock bag full of dreamsand to the elderly werewolf veteran across the street who’s been experiencing chronic pain for decades after being struck by multiple silver bullets that were never properly removed. 

Then they arrive at the apartment of the Moreiras.

When Jason knocks on the door, it swings open to reveal a small middle-aged woman, tears filling her eyes as she gazes up at him. “Thank God,” she says, then takes a shuddering breath. “Thank God you’re here. Something’s not right with Daniel. He - he won’t come out of his room. He says we have to stay away or he’ll hurt us. I don’t understand what’s happening. I can’t - help him.” She presses a hand to her trembling mouth.

Jason reaches out to take her other hand, squeezes it reassuringly. “Whatever he’s going through, he’s in control enough to want to protect you and Elena both - that’s a good thing, that he’s still himself. But I won’t let him go through it alone. I’ll bring him back safely.” He guides her into a chair at the kitchen table while Dick, noticing an empty glass and pitcher of water on the table, pours her some. Ms. Moreira smiles at him through watery eyes. “Thank you, honey. I’m sorry I couldn’t welcome you properly.”

“That’s OK, Ms. Moreira, taking care of yourself is more important right now. And I’m more than happy to help. Since I’m Jason’s ....partner.”

Jason doesn’t bat an eye. “Wait here, Ms. Moreira. Dick and I will go see Daniel now. We’ll be back soon.” He leads Dick through the apartment to a room further down the hallway, where both of them pause at the sound of shaky breathing and the metallic tang of blood spilling from the room.

Jason rests a hand on the doorknob, twists it to no avail. 

“Don’t come any closer! Please!” a young male voice sobs.

“Daniel, it’s me,” Jason says lowly. 

“J-Jay?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the voice says, soft and shaken. 

“You could never hurt me. And I wouldn’t let any harm come to your mom or your little sister, either.” Jason presses a hand to the door. “You know I’ve seen it all. We’ll get through this together.”

There’s a sharp inhalation of breath. “OK. OK.” 

“I’m coming in.” Jason begins picking the lock, fingers nimble enough to coax the lock open in a matter of seconds. 

They both step into the room, where a teenage boy with an ashen complexion is huddled in the farthest corner. One of his hands is clenched tightly around a rosary, beads trailing from his fingers, while another hand cups his mouth, a pair of fangs sheathing and unsheathing from his lips to sink into flesh.

Dick turns to lock the door as Jason takes a seat in front of Daniel. “You’ve turned,” he says, a quiet observation, not a judgment. The boy nods shakily, removes his hand from his mouth to speak more clearly.

“I thought I was getting jumped last night. I remember a cloaked guy coming at me, fast, and knocking me to the ground. I ended up blacking out. And when I woke up, I couldn’t remember a single thing, only that I felt like I was in danger. So I ran home without thinking.  It took this morning for me to realize something was wrong.” He brushes against the raw, red bite marks on his neck. “And when I tried to eat regular food, I threw it all up. So I guess I really can only drink blood after all.” His mouth wobbles. “I don’t want to live off other people. I can’t. That - that’d make me more of a monster than I already am.”

“You’re not,” Dick says, and sits next to Jason. Daniel looks at him, eyes wide. “My little brother Tim’s in the same boat as you. He was turned from human to vampire three years ago. Turning was really hard on him too. He wouldn’t eat anything. Not even animal blood.” He doesn’t add that Tim’s body broke down in the process, becoming more fragile and bruised by the day as he curled up in bed listlessly until he - “Until he was able to invent a substitute that could provide the same amount of nutrients without drawing from the blood of any living being.”

Dick reaches into his messenger bag, pulls out an emergency canteen he had thankfully kept on him courtesy of Tim. He offers it to Daniel, who tentatively takes a sip and blinks.

“It tastes like coffee.” Encouraged, he drains its contents.

Dick smiles in spite of himself. “Yeah, that’s Tim for you. So, how do you feel now?”

Daniel wipes his mouth, then runs a thumb gingerly over where his fangs have retracted. “Better. It’s really working?”

He digs out another canteen to give to Daniel. “This should last you for the weekend at least. And here -” He rummages for his notebook, scribbles a number on a page, and tears it out. “That’s Tim’s personal number. If you call him, tell him Dick Grayson gave you this number. Tim should be able to hook you up with a free supply and give you advice on how to adjust to life after turning.” 

Daniel takes the paper reverently. “Thank you. This means a lot to me. I owe you big time for all your help.”

“Well, I’m Jason’s partner for the day so you can put it on his tab.”

“And there is no tab because you, Elena, and your mom are family to me,” Jason pitches in. “So don’t sweat it. Here, let’s clean and wrap up your injuries before we go see your mom.” 

When the three of them step into the kitchen, Ms. Moreira’s expression crumples before she hugs her son tight and reels Jason and Dick in for tearful kisses. Jason surprisingly responds to it well, only smiles at her gently, eyes aglow. 

Dick’s throat tightens. To think Jason, a hardened immortal edged with sharp teeth and lined with glinting gold, could still be capable of such tenderness. 

They stay a moment longer, just to explain the situation to Ms. Moreira and ensure the family knows to reach out if they need anything, before they finally take their leave.

Outside the apartment complex, Dick exhales, letting the tension seep out of him and evaporate into the summer air. When he glances over at Jason and sees a lipstick mark on his face, he tries to stifle his amusement in vain. 

Jason scrubs at his cheek with the back of a hand. “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you. You’ve got lipstick on your face too.”

Dick wipes it off more carefully. “Did I miss any spots?”

“You’re fine.”

“Good,” Dick chirps. Now that there’s no longer a crisis at hand, the urgency once permeating through the air has dissipated, leaving a restless energy in its wake. Dick drums his fingers against his side. “Well, I know the Moreiras were the last household you had to visit for the day. Thanks for letting me tag along. I should get going then -” 

“Thank you.” The look on Jason’s face makes Dick stop short. “For your help with Daniel.”

“I didn’t do much,” Dick replies honestly. “I guess I just happen to know more about these kinds of things because of my family.”

“Tim, right?” Jason’s voice has a genuine tint of curiosity to it. Dick finds himself wanting to oblige.

“Yeah. And there’s four more besides him. A shapeshifter who’s learning how to speak after returning to her human form for the first time in years. A banshee who’s used her voice to keep people out, not let them in. A witch who only learned to wield his magic to hurt and not protect. And a seer whose vision of sight is powerful enough to blind him.” _Cass. Steph. Damian. Duke._ “We’re a motley crew so learning what the others have been through gives me a better idea of how to handle all kinds of people.” 

“Was it for the better or worse that Wayne took you all in?”

Dick looks down at his shoes. He remembers a different pair he had once waited to step through the front door every day, Bruce’s wingtips. And as soon as he crossed into the foyer, the shadows of the Manor flocked towards him, clambering over his shoelaces and tugging at his slacks in their eagerness to bask in Bruce’s attention. But always, the man would look up first to see Dick perched in the chandelier, the edge of his mouth quirking upwards.

His chest constricts with the memory, what had been but couldn’t continue to be. “B gave us back the futures we never had. But in claiming us as his own, he claimed us for his mission. In the end, I couldn’t be his soldier, or even his. And I don’t want the others to go through that either.” At the silence that follows, and the realization that Jason hasn’t spoken this entire time, only listened, Dick flushes. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for me to give an entire play-by-play of my family’s issues. None of this matters to you anyways.”

“Except I did,” Jason says. His gaze is steady when it meets Dick’s. “And it does matter to me. It explains some important things.”

Dick swallows. “Like what?”

“Like why you look the happiest when you’re flying.” He smiles at Dick, a small, close-mouthed smile like it's a secret between the two of them. 

Dick will hold onto the memory of it, for the days, then years to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise the story is steadily building up to the point it'll earn the explicit rating :)  
> thank you for your patience in the meantime and for taking the time to visit and/or return to this story <3


	3. quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> especially grateful for the solace that fanfic - and the fanfic-writing community - has provided these past few weeks.  
> i'll be grateful as well if this chapter can do the same for you :)
> 
> this chapter includes the content warnings of internalized toxic masculinity that a character is working through.

Whenever Jason leaves for a rare cross-country mission, one that’ll take weeks, Dick keeps the TV on to fend off the silence in their apartment that otherwise threatens to swallow him whole, keeps his hands busy so they won’t wrap around his ribs and miss the feeling of a warm body anchoring them.

It’s ridiculous, he knows, to miss Jason this much. But it makes sense. He’d cut off ties with his old world, taken a leap to see what would await him on the other side only to find Jason, and a home in him too.

Dick sighs as he sprawls bonelessly over the countertop of the kitchen bar. The absence of Jason, as grounding as he is, has Dick in far more of a maudlin state than he’d like. 

He turns his head, only to find a metal cauldron looming over him. Right, Alfred had tasked him with re-stocking the Wayne Manor’s healing supplies; the alchemist had put him to work as soon as he picked up on his restless state in the wake of Jason’s latest departure.

With a groan, Dick sits upright again, plucking out the apothecary book and woven basket of ingredients that’s been helpfully tucked inside. He flips to the page on the steps to brew a potion of clarity, meant to grant its drinker the ability to see through any illusion. Babs had mentioned Scarecrow had broken out of Arkham in the middle of last night and that besides Bruce’s shadow surveillance, Cass and Duke had been assigned to comb through Gotham to search for him; having an antidote to fear toxin would be useful to the coven then. 

He soon becomes absorbed in the step-by-step process, upending the basket of herbs and animal parts to have all the listed ingredients within reach. He’s just begun plucking mandrake leaves when the door behind him creaks, immediately triggering his nerves. While muscle memory guides his hand to the escrima stick hooked to his belt, his grip goes slack at the sound of Jason’s voice cutting through the building tension. 

“Daddy’s home.”

“You can’t be ‘daddy’ if you’re the only one who calls yourself that,” Dick shoots back, coy reply betraying just how badly he wants to turn around right now - but if he doesn’t finish the potion as directed, it’ll fester and brim over in a tide of polluted waste. So he keeps his back turned, eyes trained on the bubbling contents of the cauldron, as the familiar fall of Jason’s footsteps approaches.

Muscled arms wrap around his waist and a head of curly hair rests on his shoulder. Dick reaches one hand up to thread his fingers through Jason’s undercut, nails scratching at his scalp, and Jason lets out a soft sound.

He lifts his head to nose at Dick’s nape. “Whatcha cooking?”

“Fear toxin antidote for the coven. How was Colorado?”

“Cold as hell. Teaming up with Harper and Kori‘s always a good time but you can only third-wheel so much in the name of justice before you reach your limit.”

“I’m sure they appreciated your heroic sacrifices.”

Dick sprinkles crushed valerian root into the mix - the last step, thankfully - before he spins around to face Jason. His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of Jason watching him with a light in his eyes, even with cheeks chafed red by frigid wind and a bandage peeking out from his shirt collar. 

He’s really home.

Dick presses a gentle hand to where the bandage protrudes but Jason doesn’t flinch. “What happened here?” 

“Got clipped by the claws of a rabid wyvern. Nothing too serious.” But he still lets Dick examine him, Dick’s hands ghosting up and down his body to probe for injuries. 

Jason’s telling the truth this time, Dick notes with some relief. The last mission out of Gotham that Jason returned home from, a hydra had ripped out a chunk from his side, leaving Dick to scramble for a poultice to counter the poison eating away at Jason’s body. He would have given Jason hell for it, had it not been for the fact Jason was green around the gills for the next two weeks and had spent the time curled up on either Dick’s chest or lap, his strength sapped.

Jason’s touch brings him back to the present, his hand wrapping around Dick’s wrist, thumbing at his pulse. 

“Satisfied? You could’ve found a better excuse to feel me up.”

In response, Dick tugs him down for a kiss and Jason huffs as he obliges. He licks into Jason’s mouth, tracing its soft, familiar shape, and Jason’s tongue sweeps over his own. They pull apart, only for Jason to reel him back in for a second kiss that deepens as their lips slide against each other. Dick closes his eyes to savor it, the taste of Jason coming home.

“I missed you too,” Dick says when they separate. “So how’s Roy and Kori?”

“At their happiest, now that they’ve rebranded as the Outlaws and can go anywhere they want without anyone to hold ‘em back. And they’re on vacation anytime they’re not picking up gigs so you can rest assured they’re living the good life.”

Dick smiles at that. “Good for them. I know Roy hated designing weapons for clients who weren’t using them for the right reasons and Kori had her hands full trying to train the new Titans recruits so I’m glad they finally get to be their own bosses.” 

“They feel the same way about you, you know.”

Dick leans back to rest his elbows on the counter as he searches for the right way to respond. “They’re on a whole different level from me, Jay. Business is booming for them but I’ve gone from GCPD lieutenant and head of the Titans to neighborhood hedge witch. I was barely scraping enough funds to pay monthly rent for the office before I met you.”

Jason levels a thoroughly unimpressed look at him. “You doing pro bono work is a credit to you, not the burn you think it is. And no, they’re happy you’re doing what feels right to you. They said it’s for the best you can expand your horizons without the bat looming over you.”

“Expanding my horizons, that definitely feels like a euphemism,” Dick repeats wryly. A lightbulb dimly flickers in his mind. “Wait, you mean the time they saw me in a skirt?”

“They both said it was a good look on you,” Jason replies. “From their perspective, they’d gone from seeing you in uniform or in henleys and jeans on the weekends to seeing you decked out in glitter and leather on the dance floor. Which is an improvement, obviously. You’d been holding out on them for years.”

A tendril of warmth coils in Dick’s chest. He bumps shoulders with Jason. “Well, I know you’re just a tinge biased so I’ll have to take what you say with a grain of salt.”

“I’m a lot biased when it comes to you but I’m also right, which is what counts the most here.” 

“Mmhm.” Dick tucks himself into Jason’s side. Jason’s arm wraps around his shoulder to pull him in closer. They stand like that for a moment, Dick letting his head fall so he can feel the steady rise and fall of Jason’s breathing while Jason’s thumb dips under his shirt to rub circles into his skin.

“Also, I got you a gift on the way home. With Kori’s help,” Jason finally says, and the even, nonchalant cadence of his words hints at the fact he must have been rehearsing the line before coming home. “Want to take a look now or later?”

He’ll be teasing Jason too much if he answers ‘later.’ Besides, he’s curious himself as to what the occasion could be. Jason’s brought back gifts in the past but rarely ever had to force a casual tone to announce them. “Now sounds good. Thank you and Kori both for thinking of me.”

“You might take back your thanks once you see what’s inside.” Jason offers a paper bag to Dick. 

Dick carefully places the bag on the countertop to lift out a neatly folded rectangle of dark fabric. When he unfolds it, it unfurls into an elegant black silk dress. 

“ _Oh_.” Dick runs a finger down the thin shoulder straps, the swoop of the V neck cut, the slit that runs from the hem to the waist. Carefully, he holds the dress up to his body to find it matches his height and waist size well, from a visual inspection.

Jason is watching him intently. Only after being with him for this long can Dick tell he’s nervous, his body falling far too still as he gauges Dick’s reaction.

“This is really mine?” Dick asks.

“Yeah.” Jason clears his throat. “But if you want it in a different color or style, I can swap this one for another one.”

Dick hugs the dress to his chest. The first dress he’s ever received as a gift, from the first person outside of his family who learned how happy wearing dresses made him feel. He smiles at Jason, a quiet joy lighting him up from inside. “It’s perfect just the way it is. Thank you, Jay, it’s beautiful. Could you give me a few minutes to try this on?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Jason replies but his answering smile is soft. “Take your time. I’ll wait.”

Dress tucked in his arms, Dick manages to walk to their bedroom with relative poise. But as soon as he shuts the door, his fingers fumble to yank off his shirt and unzip his jeans, a frisson of excitement rippling through him. After a moment’s consideration, he strips off his briefs as well, squats down to rummage through their underwear drawer and retrieve a pair of white lace panties. 

He slips them on, arranges his stirring cock so it sits comfortably without straining the fabric too much. Then, he pulls on the dress, legs in first before he draws it up around his body.

The silk whispers against his skin and he luxuriates in the sensation for a moment, fingers skimming where fabric presses close to skin.

When he looks at his reflection in the bedroom mirror, Dick shivers.

He looks even better than he thought he would, sleek black dress showcasing his lithe figure. He’d been afraid his shoulders would be too broad or his chest too flat but instead, the spaghetti straps arc gracefully over his shoulders and the neckline presses flat against his pecs, highlighting the line of his sternum. Dick does a spin, grins as the bell of the dress flares out. 

He feels free.

When Dick steps out, Jason grabs hold of the counter in a white-knuckled grip. He sees Jason swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and it gives him the courage to santer up, rest a hand on Jason’s chest. He looks up at Jason and Jason only stares at him, his eyes dilated.

“You’re beautiful,” Jason murmurs. He inhales. “You’re so beautiful I can’t even think straight. Fuck.”

Dick traces a finger down Jason’s jawline. “You can touch me, you know.”

Jason’s hands gently fall onto Dick’s hips to pull him in closer. When one of his hands brushes against the slit in the dress, Jason pauses before parting the slit further, where white lace trimming peeks out.

“You’re wearing panties,” Jason says quietly, reverently.

A heat rises to Dick’s face. “I had to complete the look somehow.”

“Mm.” And then Jason sinks to his knees.

The sight of Jason looking up at him, gold-ringed eyes blown with hunger for him, only him, has Dick curling his fingers to fists. Jason ducks his head under Dick’s dress hem and Dick can only sink his teeth into his bottom lip as he feels the searing heat of Jason’s hands wrap around his legs, at the wet warmth of Jason’s lips mouthing at the skin of his thighs, alternating between gentle kisses and rougher bites.

When Jason noses at his groin, cock still trapped in his panties, and licks a stripe up it, Dick’s hand flies to his mouth on instinct to stop any sounds from spilling out. He immediately lowers it to pant, “Wait, wait, I’m going to ruin this dress if you go any further.”

Jason emerges from the bottom of his dress. “So what, you’re suggesting that I strip you out of it?”

“That’d be an excellent place to start, Mr. Todd.”

Then strong hands are cupping his back and thighs as Jason lifts Dick up in one fell swoop, bridal style. Dick laughs, wraps his arms around Jason’s neck to press a kiss to his cheek.

Jason makes him feel beautiful.

.

.

.

.

.

 _Since quitting the GCPD, Dick’s worn a skirt out in public a grand total of nine times -_ a number that rightly feels small but marks every victory he’s pulled himself out of the swirling vortex of worries of his masculinity being called into question to let loose for a night and to settle into his skin with a fierce euphoria.

Tonight will mark his tenth. It’s been six months since he’s opened his own practice and one and a half since he started partnering with Jason, which has meant a rapid uptick in clients from Jason’s territory seeking him out. He’s worn out with the satisfaction that he’s done well for himself, enough to allow himself a Friday night off.

Tim, Steph, and Cass show up at his place within minutes of his text to the group chat inviting them over for the evening. They don’t use the door, of course. A petite nighthawk and bat land on his windowsill to hop into his apartment. A blonde head pops up behind them shortly and Dick stifles his amusement to pull the window further open so Steph can slide in with a grumbled, “I hate being the only one who can’t transform into animals.”

“That just means it’s all the more impressive you made it up here on your own, Steph. Getting the hang of the grapple lines?”

Steph grins at him. “I beat Dami on a broom in a race through the city just last week.”

“Yeah, and he wouldn’t stop bitching about it for hours, thanks to you,” Tim pipes up. He cracks his neck, flexes his fingers as he adjusts to his human form.

Next to him, Cass, who slips into different forms as fluidly as fish in water, smiles up at him. “Hi, Dick.” 

Dick ruffles her hair. “Hey yourself, Cassie. Glad you could make it, even if just for a little bit.” With the trio assigned to night patrol, Dick’s lucky all three of them were able to make the time to stop by even for just an hour. “So who’s covering for you three right now?”

“The demon brat and Duke,” Tim answers promptly.

“Duke is doing well,” Cass says. “He can use his full Sight now.”

“And B gave Dami the green light, now that he’s not actively trying to impale every target within a two mile radius,” Steph pipes up. 

The last time Dick had seen the two of them, Duke had taken to wearing sunglasses during training to ease the strain on his eyes in absorbing and tracking the movements of his targets and Damian had been tasked with refining his aim when summoning swords to be able to pin the training dummies down without hitting vital spots. They must make a formidable pair, now that they’ve been approved for patrol.

Dick smiles. “They’ve both become so reliable, huh? It’s good you guys can take a break more often now they’re in the rotation too. You’ve all been working so hard.”

He pulls out a well-loved pizzeria menu from a kitchen drawer to slide to Steph and Cass. “You both know I’d eat pizza with any and every kind of topping so have at it, guys.

Tim, I’ve got Synthetiblood in the fridge. Cool name for the product, by the way.”

A pleased blush fans across Tim’s cheeks. “Of course you would keep your fridge stocked with it. You know, you don’t have to pay for it out of pocket when I can give you boxes of it for free.” He opens the fridge. “Hey, you’ve even got the chai flavor.”

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping up to date on your latest product releases. And of course I’m going to buy my own supply, Timbo, how else am I going to support its creator? It was generous of you to gift Daniel Moreira a free supply, though.”

Tim’s face lights up. “Dan! We’ve been talking, he’s a cool guy.” He inclines his head, a suddenly calculating look in his eyes. “By the way, I asked him how you met him in the first place and he said you were the Hood’s ‘partner’.”

“I can hear the air quotes, Tim.”

Cass looks up from the menu, interest piqued. “The Hood. The man in the leather jacket? He seems kind. He ...sets you at ease.”

Only because it’s Cass saying it - Cass, whose insight into human behavior is spot on, whose aptitude for drawing out buried truths is second to none - is Dick as caught off guard as he is. Picking up on Dick’s surprise, Cass elaborates, “I saw you and him on patrol. In the Bowery. I was a dove that day.” She cocks her head. “Sorry. I just saw he made you happy. Babs thinks so too. Sorry.”

As skilled as Cass is at intuiting human emotion, she’s equally anxious about navigating the far murkier waters of conversational social etiquette. Dick rushes to reassure her, even as he attempts to quash the heat rising to his face, the mortification he’s been seen through. “You’re all good, Cassie. Babs might have her own ulterior motives but I know you were just looking out for me. I appreciate it.” 

Tim and Steph are both staring at him; while Tim has the tact to be subtle about it, Steph’s mouth is wide open. She snaps the pizzeria menu shut. “You’re not denying anything Cass has said so far, D. So what’s the deal? Shouldn’t you be seducing the Hood instead of going out clubbing to find your next boytoy?”

Tim chokes and Dick, secretly thankful for the distraction, pounds him on the back. When Tim wheezes “I’m fine,” Dick returns his disgruntled attention to Steph. “There’s no seducing anyone, Steph. We’re just friends and business partners. We’ve got a good working relationship. That’s all there is to it. Also there’s no boytoy in the picture and there’s not going to be one anytime soon, either.” Shifting gears, he taps the menu. “So, what pizza did you and Cass pick?”

Once Steph relays their decision - pineapple and ham on her side, mushrooms and peppers on Cass’s side - Dick rings up the pizza place down the street to place their order, all the while keenly aware of the frantically whispered conversation Tim, Steph, and Cass are having. When he finally hangs up, he arches an eyebrow at them. “So, are you done gossiping about my non-existent love life?”

“We were holding a War Council meeting as your very concerned wingpeople,” Steph replies primly. “We’ll still prep you for going out tonight. But don’t think we’re dropping this. I have it on good authority now that the Hood could be good for you _and_ he’s hot.”

“What would I ever do without my council of concerned wingpeople?” Dick asks dryly, but he slings his arms around the three of them to pull them into a fond hug. “Thanks for looking out for me, guys. It means a lot to me.” 

Steph beams up at him and Cass pats his forearm fondly while Tim ducks his head, ears pink. Dick’s all the more reminded of how eager they are for affection, and that Bruce had still made soldiers out of them anyways, and he swallows down the white-hot sliver of rage that flashes through him.

It’s partly why Dick can never say no to whatever they ask of him; he wants to give them the world they’ve been taught is their duty to save. 

It also happens to be why Dick has conceded to their demands to do his makeup and nails and pick out his outfits for when he goes out after they had learned how exactly Dick liked to dress up away from scrutinizing eyes. With how taken they were at seeing him in this new light and how earnestly they wanted to volunteer their services to dress him up, Dick never stood a chance against them.

Now, while they wait for the pizza to be delivered, Dick sits still while Tim leans in to apply a winged eyeliner and Cass paints his nails a glittering gold with blow dryer in hand to speed up the drying process. Meanwhile, Steph rummages through his closet in search of an outfit that meets her approval, returning triumphantly with a long-sleeved mesh shirt, an off shoulder black crop top, and a lace-up pleather skirt.

She promptly ushers Dick into his bedroom to go change. Of course, by the time he finishes changing and re-emerges in the kitchen, the pizza’s arrived already and the girls have already polished off almost all of it. 

Tim, straight-faced as he tips a canteen of Synthetiblood to his lips, offers an insincere, “I tried to stop them but they overpowered me instantly.”

“We worked hard. Pizza is the reward we deserve,” Cass insists.

“Exactly! And it’d be a tragedy to let the pizza go cold just because Dick’s taking forever to change,” Steph adds.

Dick pulls up a chair. “Interesting that your definition of ‘forever’ is only five minutes, Steph, but I see how it is.” They’ve graciously left him two slices. He digs in. “It’s a wonder that all of you, plus Dami and Duke, haven’t eaten Alfred out of house and home yet.” 

The three exchange glances. “Actually,” Tim says. “I’ve been thinking about moving out. The brownstone I’ve inherited has been collecting dust for years but now I’m finally of age to claim it. And there’s room for Steph and Cass too.”

Dick wipes his fingers with a napkin, buying time for the implications of Tim’s words to sink in. “And how did Bruce take the news?”

“We haven’t told him yet,” Steph replies, shifting in her seat “Pretty sure boss man’s not going to take to it well.”

“Bruce does not want things to change,” Cass says. “If we say we want to move, he will feel ...betrayed. He will think we are -” She hunts for the right word. “-Rejecting. Rejecting him as our coven head. But we are not.” Her dark eyes fix on him. “You already know.”

Dick smiles wryly in spite of himself. “Boy do I.” To think it had been seven years ago he had been sitting in their exact position. He regards them now, the earnest, determined set to their faces, is sure they’d put up a fight when push comes to shove and is much more sure of how easily they’d open up if given the chance to be understood, to be heard.

“I think it’s great you guys want to have your own space so you can spread your wings. Literally and metaphorically.” The three crack a small smile at that. “But more seriously, I do get it; life at the Manor means it’s Bruce’s house, Bruce’s rules, and there’s only so far you can go before you end up hitting a wall. It’s important to stand your ground when you try to find a way out. And I’m here to back you all up if you need it.” 

Their relief is palpable, and a little heartbreaking. Dick fetches them glasses of water to borrow the time he needs to collect himself before returning back to the table.

They chat for a little longer, until their earpieces crackle to life, Babs giving them the signal to return to patrol. Cass and Tim morph back into their forms, the nighthawk fondly nipping at his ear while the bat’s claws gently dig into Dick’s hand before they both take flight. Steph hollers at him to wear the silver platform boots as she swings out the window as well. 

Dick watches them go, a twinge in his chest, before he laces up the boots that Steph had instructed him to wear and heads out.

Tonight’s destination is The Siren’s Call, a club that had gradually become one of his favorites as a space welcoming of diversity, both in terms of species and gender expression.

When he steps through the door, he’s met with a teeming throng of bodies on the dancefloor and a wall of sound, a heavy bass that rings in his ears and thrums in his teeth.

It used to be that Dick would have to mentally visualize stepping out of himself, stripping away the personas of Lieutenant Grayson, Richie Wayne, and Bruce’s son so he could newly resurface as one of the many bodies mingling together in The Siren’s Call. But since he’s left to make a name for himself, he’s beholden to no one but himself, which means it only takes slamming down a few shots for him to slip into the crowd, losing himself to the music and the dizzying freedom that he can just be beautiful tonight, reveling in the appreciation of everyone who dances with him. 

When Dick steps off the dancefloor for a drink of water and leans on the bar counter, soaking in the scene of the club, his gaze snags on two people seated at a side booth, a nymph with golden skin with crimson hair cascading down her back and a human with short-cropped ginger hair and a vibrant green skull tattoo. He aches just at the sight of them, an ache only eased by the realization that Kori and Roy both look happier than the last time he had encountered them. 

Then again, the splitting of the Titans had left them all shattered in their own ways, as they all buckled under the weight of the burdens they had once shared with each other. 

Regret twists inside of him. He wishes he could’ve spent more time with them, but between working to the bone as Bruce’s lieutenant and now at his own practice, there hadn’t been much time to touch base with them.

He looks down at himself and back at them. He’s led them through hell and back, their bond as a team and their loyalty to him forged in blood and dust, and now he’s standing teen feet away from them in trailing liquid eyeliner, a skirt that barely covers his ass, and platform boots a teenager picked out for him that expose him for who he is, a man playing a perverse kind of pretend.

There’s no way he can face them like this.

Thankfully, they haven’t noticed him yet, deep in animated conversation. 

But there’s a third person with them, Dick realizes with a dawning dread, someone whose features thus far had been shrouded in darkness because of how they had been leaning back in the booth. But as the person leans forward, the light catches on curly dark hair, the scar slicing down his face, gleaming golden eyes that lock on him.

It’s Jason. Jason, who can see him clearly, whose respect for Dick must be plummeting with every agonizingly slow second that passes between the two of them, Jason’s gaze raking over his body.

Dick moves before he’s even aware of it, jerking back to duck into the crowd and out the back doors into the adjoining alley. As soon as he presses against the brick wall, his stomach lurches. He shouldn’t have run. It would send the wrong message, ruin everything he’s invested into fostering a budding partnership with Jason. But he had moved on instinct. 

It’s colder than expected, with neither the burn of alcohol nor the heat of the dancefloor lingering in his system and providing him warmth to insulate from the biting night air. But he can’t go back, not when he’s already lost face and his standing to the one person who had come to know and respect him for who he was outside of the Wayne name. 

The one person who’s standing in front of him now. 

Dick’s heart clenches in his throat as he stares at Jason. “I didn’t mean to run from you,” Dick manages. “It just sort of happened.”

“That’s fine,” Jason replies. “If you had a problem with me, I would’ve trusted you to tell me already. We’ve been working well in the time we’ve been partners.” His voice is steady, free of judgment. So when he asks, "Can I come closer?" Dick nods numbly.

Then a jacket is being draped over Dick's shoulders, wreathed in the familiar scents of smoke and cologne. Dick reaches up to brush the metal zipper and stroke the buttered leather before he draws the jacket closer around him, sighing as the residual warmth from its owner seeps into him. While fitting just right on Jason’s broad frame, the jacket is large on him, enough to thoroughly cover him and shield him from the cold.

Dick looks up at Jason.

“You looked like you were freezing,” Jason offers. “Sorry I don’t have anything for your legs.” 

His legs, mostly bare with the exception of tight pleather stretched taut over his thighs and chunky metallic shoes from his ankles down. 

Dick sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “You don’t think it’s off-putting to see me like this.” He means for it to be a question but it comes out a statement that falls flat between the two of them.

“Off-putting,” Jason repeats, nonplussed. “Dick, you’re the complete opposite. You look -” He pauses, his jaw working and cheeks darkening, as he tries to complete his sentence. “You look good," he says finally.

Dick stares at him. His mind tucks away the fact Jason Todd, centuries old immortal, can still blush. “You really mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jason’s eyes narrow. “Why, have other people told you you’re off-putting?”

“I never would’ve worn anything like this when I was with the GCPD,” Dick admits. “I would’ve been seen as a joke or had a target painted on my back. And I would’ve ended up dishonoring Bruce too and everything he had worked to build. So no, no one’s ever called me that because I kept it under wraps but if I hadn’t, I would’ve been seen as...deviant, I guess.” 

“Even though you genuinely like dressing like this.” 

“Yeah, I do. I get restless in my own skin sometimes but dressing up eases the feeling. I can’t explain it too well. It’s like I go out and put on a good show of being a man, or what’s expected from being a man, and sometimes that’s fine but other times it’s not. Then I only start to feel more like me when I separate myself from what other people think masculinity is.” The honesty that bubbles up surprises even him but now that the floodgates have opened, he can’t stop. “And in my time at the GCPD, I thought I could bury those feelings but I couldn’t. So I just had to dress up in secret. It’s only after I quit that I’ve ever gone out in public looking like this.”

“Well, fuck the police,” Jason says. “And their toxic masculinity. And also their systemic brutalizing of civilians and their power-hungry praxis of punishment and exploitation.” He raises an eyebrow at Dick. “I hope you’re not offended on their behalf. That’s why you quit, right?”

Dick laughs in spite of himself. “Yes, for a lot of the things you just mentioned.”

“I hope it’s better this way.” 

“It is,” Dick replies, and finds that he means it. 

“Good.” Jason smiles at him. “So, now that you know I’m not going to give you any grief, want to come back inside?”

Dick swallows. “You’re with Roy and Kori right now. They don’t - they haven’t seen me like this before. They’ve only ever seen me as a leader, putting up a strong front. Not … not this.” A searing shame wells up in him, makes it difficult to maintain eye contact with Jason.

But Jason’s gaze alights on him with an unwavering certainty. “‘This.’ As in, beautiful. Radiant.”

Dick looks away, a hard lump growing in his throat. No one has ever called him radiant before, said it with such little hesitation that it makes him think it might be true.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Jason says. “But if you do, Roy and Kori won’t think any less of you. You know they’re good people. And I’ll be there too. If - and this is a big if - if they have any problems with you, they’ll have a problem with me too.”

Dick exhales. Jason’s right. Leaving behind his past with Bruce and the GCPD shouldn’t have to also mean running away from the life he wants to lead. And he’s no longer alone now, not when he’s beginning to feel at home in his own skin with Jason here. 

He straightens his shoulders. “OK. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reference image for the dress jason gifts dick can be found [here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.nastygal.com%2Fslit-by-slit-maxi-dress%2FAGG87171.html&psig=AOvVaw2WE6tY6NeeBT_thVOGFXO8&ust=1613287018247000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CA0QjhxqFwoTCNjDz9Co5u4CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAE/) , though i imagined it to have one slit rather than two.
> 
> thank you as always to everyone who leaves kudos and comments - i appreciate you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> title from the lovely song ["one more time with feeling"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOkMqYpJdtM&ab_channel=ReginaSpektor-Topic/) by regina spektor.
> 
> the story of the lovers that dick references is from the manga fruits basket :)


End file.
